Kingdoms of Kalamar: The Death of Kings

The man in the stone room stood over the rotting oaken table, listening to the sound of the wind through the bars of the window ten feet over his head. His peace was gone. This place, his place, of calm was uncalm and the wrongness of that made him mad. The smells of rotted food and human waste choked away any actual vermin. The dirty rushes covered most of the tiny cell, and the man looked as though he had slept in his filth for days. The only well-cared for thing in sight was the iron-banded door and its very well kept lock.

The papers on the table told small stories, often in only a few words, but led to a larger picture. The cave is lost. The adventurers are alive. And his servants, both those who knew of their patron and those far removed from him, were dead or scattered. He was close, he’d been so very close.

The man in the stone room crumpled the latest note, sent from a diligent young Kargi scout who obeyed his orders and stayed out of the fighting: the two subjects were on the move with their two companions, the human was nowhere to be found. Malleus. The man in the stone room had met him, before, when Malleus had been somewhat younger and full of promise for the Emperor’s Own. The man in the stone room did not know him, and their meeting was brief—the passing nod and smile of an important man greeting a rolling ocean of less important men ceremoniously. Like a baker acknowledges a hoard of customers, like an officer acknowledges new conscripts.

The man in the stone room did not know Malleus. But he knew his type. No doubt, the officer would return to his party—his type always did. It was important that he do so, as well, as none of the others were suitable to his plans. Certainly not the two he’d carefully selected for his great plan.

Lightening flashed and the wind picked up—the howling of the storm outside was music of a fierce era. The man in the stone room began crumpling papers on the table one by one—giving them a last look.

“The cursed one and the woman still live, despite our ambush—precautions should be taken, we are fairly sure she does not sleep”… hardly a revelation, elves don’t sleep, but he wouldn’t rob the ignorant their little discoveries (certainly not if they’re a highly trained company of soldiers from the Young Kingdoms—and hobgoblins to boot). They failed, and they’ll likely see their commander murdered for the failure—the man in the stone room made a mental note to ask politely about new leadership in the coming weeks.

“Grash’s son leads them, he fights without honor, his blood is tainted by his lowly birth though we have witnessed him having little love for his people”… the orc. Or sil-orc, or whatever they’re called. The man in the stone room had never liked orcs, rare as they are they hardly ever came down from their hills and mountains and those that did were unwashed brutish deviants. Worthless. Despite Captain Kalgesh’s warnings, he was of little consequence. Orcs. They can’t even read.

“The dragon nearly had me, master. I dispatched the thief and the Nezzar played his part well as the Spider, but things turned too dangerous. I had to run to tell you, you are my most important task—but the dragon was fast. I believe he is suspecting of what I am. I escaped, finally, but only through guile. He is dangerous. I will go to Bet Seder, I have heard they will be going there soon. I will watch, but not engage unless you wish it”… ah, V. The man in the stone room loved her. Was repulsed by her, but loved her. She was his most able agent, and yet one he feared the most. The day she revealed herself to him, to help him with his grand design, she was a miracle from the Gods themselves. Timely. Just what was needed. But, he never forgot… she appeared. She wasn’t found. What she knew? He often worried about where her true motives were.

The last notes were from his agents or their assets in Phandelver. The Red Cloaks were all dead—good riddance, they’d not the wit to work for him when offered anyway and he wanted them gone for phase two of the plan. The dwarf, Gunderen or Goodren and Sildar were hard at work restoring the cave and the mine—a suitable turn of events, but nobody had anticipated the Forge of Spells would have been so broken and weak. It was a long shot, taking that cave, but now with so many eyes on it—restoring it to its former glory would help but it would all take too much time.

And time was growing short.

The man in the stone room crumpled the last paper and breathed deeply of the stink and the rot. His eyes fluttered and he was lost in thought—time was short. Time was short.

The orc primitive. The elf bitch. The fallen noble. The cursed. The dragon.

He needed two of them, if his studies had been right, if V’s book was right and his sage’s own research wrong then he needed only one of them. The other was insurance. The rest… he couldn’t be sure they wouldn’t be useful. Death later, but profit now.

The man in the stone room began pacing. The cold slap of his naked feet on dry stone… then the wet splatter of his naked feet in a pool of excrement. Over and over. Around and around the tiny room.

They murdered a dragon. No small feat. V’s book says he only needs the one. His viziers tell him that the tales of the Conqueror insist on two. But, his own caution thought it necessary to bring all of them to bear. How else does one kill a king, if not by overdoing the gods-loving shit out of it?

Lightening crashed and he stopped his march. His head felt clearer, his path made more sense. Watch. Wait. Give them a reason.

They were small, ungodly people. And he could use that.

The man in the stone room moved to the great door and banged twice. A hatch opened level with his own face and a meaty, pink-faced man stared back through it from the outside.

“I am done”, said the man in the stone room.

“Uh-yah… yess’msir… yess’msir yer grace”, said the pink-faced man as he quickly unlocked the door and collapsed to his knees, head bowed and ratty cap in his hands.

“Have them clean everything, Yawl. How long has it been this time?”

“Uh-ym… not as long as it all, yer grace. I did check you sleepin’ last week, mebbe. So…”, the pink-faced man scrunched his face tight in sums, “ten or so days?”

“Thank you, Yawl”, the man from the stone room said as he walked away up through the tunnels and past the empty cells into the light of torches and out of the dungeons.

A half-retinue of castle guards escorted the naked, dirty man to a suite of rooms—common but clean—and there a handful of girls no older than seven or eight helped him bath and oiled his hair and filed his nails and gave him sweet oils and light sandals and a resplendent doublet and breeches and hose.

At last, an old man arrived and brought a golden crown out of a velvet bag—as though the weight of the world was in his hands—and shakily placed it on the man from the stone room’s brow.

“Your council awaits you, your highness”, said the old man with a hint of concern.

“Thank you, Bert. Well, let’s off then”, he sparkled a smile as he stood, “…we’ve a war to win.”

Bast

The day was unusually muggy. The rain was promising to cool it down, but as of now, the moisture hung in the air and made it hard to breathe. The trail back to Phandalin was decent enough. It did get better the closer they got to town. This was a small comfort, and Bast was used to comfort. He was used to Inn’s and the beds of wagons. This was something new. He was constantly being told to shush, or being looked at angrily for bringing along good food. By the gods and the others this group was intriguing.

Bast was walking along the trail thinking to himself about the events of the last week. Thinking was the wrong word. More like discussing the events of the last week. Bast was talking to it again, and realized that more than one of them was looking at him strangely. He walked a little further up the trail for some privacy and continued his thought process. “These people are strange.” “Some of them bind themselves so tightly to these “laws” that they serve.” “These laws made by men.” “Why would one willingly slave himself away to man-made power?” “These laws mean NOTHING, and yet they willingly give their power away to them.” “I must find out why!”

Bast was humming to himself as he walked along behind the group. He seemed amused, as he always did. He was watching the Orc man carefully. Out of all of them, this man seemed the most transparent. The most well-meaning. He took care of those he cared about, and went out of his way to ease some of the more heated debates this group was prone to. This would be needed greatly. More heated debates were going to happen. With this group, it was as sure as the setting sun.

The others were walking along the trail as well, and no one was talking. Natsu was walking by himself, like he always did. The big dragonborn was as grumpy as he was stoic. Nothing was happy with that one. Nothing seemed good enough. Save his life, and he will talk to you about how you did it wrong. “There is a better way Bast, and all that nonsense!” “HA! There is no way but the one you choose Mr. Dragon man.” Is what he would have said, if he thought it would do any good. This one, however, he could relate to somewhat. Perfection was a worthy goal, and if it took following strict protocols to get there, then who was Bast to stand in the way. Bast too was looking for something like perfection.

The elf girl was easy. She didn’t like Bast. Hell she doesn’t like anyone in this party. Her actions showed that clearly. She was young, and loved herself. Bast could have sworn that every thought that ran through that head of hers was of Astrid. She was selfish, rude, and completely caught up in becoming more powerful. On three separate occasions, she almost killed the entire group. “She will get herself killed soon. Either that or she would watch as we all died and then pull her black cloak up and walk away quietly snickering to herself about what fools we all were.” Astrid was staring at him again. He would talk with her when the time was right. He would ask her but one question. “If your goal is power, do you truly think you can attain this on your own?”

Then there was Malleus. The man who swore his life to Bast for nothing! This man was truly an enigma. He followed his own laws, and seemed to come up with them on the spot. One moment he was praising Bast for his quick thinking, and the way he disposed of some goblins, and the very next he was scolding him for killing men that would have surely done the same. “I do not understand this one.” Bast thought to himself. There is a story about this man. A story that he bribed his officers to see which ones were on the take. He then killed these men, because they broke the law. This is hypocrisy. How can it be that he can follow his laws one minute and then break them the next? This man is dangerous!

There was no malice in these thoughts. Bast was almost incapable of anger and resentment. There was only wonder, and intrigue. There was a mystery here. There were things to learn. “Eblis I will learn three new things for you. When we speak again I will give you these gifts.” As the day got shorter, and the rain finally started, Bast grinned wide and pulled out his flute. It was time to put thoughts away. It was time for music!

He stepped out of his tent to survey the town, dimly lit by the grey morning sky. He swept some strands of white hair from his eyes, and watched the early morning traffic with quiet contempt. Farmers beginning another day of backbreaking labor. Miners bustling into town with their latest pebbles and baubles. An old woman beating at some cloth for some tawdry purpose. All of them waking up at the same time, performing the same tasks, living the same pointless, dull, dreary little lives.

Malleus Exile wondered what it was like to be so normal. So mundane. So … so very meaningless.

The former military captain raised a black-gloved hand, flexed his fingers, listened to the satisfying creak of leather-on-leather. Subtly, quietly, he delivered a surge of arcane energy through his arm, and watched as the tendrils of electric light crackled in his palm, writhing and snapping, casting an eerie blue glow around him. Such a small light show was nothing, and yet with this subtle handful of energy, Malleus could slay every single peon in his immediate vicinity.

He closed his hand. The lightning disappeared. Malleus smiled.

So ordinary. The smallfolk wandering and babbling before him were so very, very ordinary. He wondered why men and women possessed of extraordinary ability would waste their energies on such useless creatures. Odom, the Orcish vagabond, as well as Natsu and Bast, seemed to put themselves at risk to help the weak and the rudderless. Why? Why would individuals so special, so above the common stock, wager their incredible and precious lives against those of cattle? Between them all, they could take this town, rule these people, and put them to some sort of use. Even better, they could leave this place and win glory, fame, or influence in places more rewarding than this. Instead, they choose to fetter themselves, to deny their power over the terminally powerless. Such a waste of potential.

Malleus smiled darkly to himself. Hypocrite, he thought. Judging these men for their decisions, while he was no better. The good captain had pledged his life to these wayward heroes, and in doing so, bound himself by their decisions. Among them all, it was perhaps the elf mage who refused to deny herself. She was selfish, and impulsive, and highly unpredictable. But she, unlike him, seemed to feel free to pursue her desires. It was most interesting. Perhaps he had more to learn from this woman than he’d originally considered.

Her power was unlike anything he’d seen. Next to her, his own arcane endeavors were as parlor tricks. She could bring a kingdom to her knees one day, or even rule her very own. That would be most interesting. Most interesting indeed. What kind of reign would that be, and what place would Malleus have in such a realm? Such intriguing ideas.

His companions approached from the inn. Malleus had elected to set up an independent camp , suspicious of recent behavior from the inn’s proprietors. He preferred it anyway. He could build a bed from sticks and leaves that were more comfortable than any bed he’d slept in, and the rain beating on his tent at night was more soothing than any hearth fire. Reminded him of the great campaigns, marching with the Sons of Scorn. A time of purpose, of great deeds … and yet, looking back, Malleus could only ruminate on how very ordinary he, himself, had been in those days.

Well, that was a long time ago.

Malleus saluted his partners as they approached. He stood rigidly in his dark green splintmail, resplendent with bleak beauty and interwoven with silks of near-black. His armor was polished to perfection, his silver sword and battleaxe, bound to him through arcane rituals, glinted with a mirror-sheen on his back. He looked impeccable. He WAS impeccable.

They were not beautiful or wiley. They lumbered up to the castle like a tired marching band, blaring the entire way and as careful as children in a mud-puddle at play. I hid and they could not see me, the half-orc came the closest but even his attention was on the prize in front of them.

Cragmaw.

An old, broken thing—much like me. Well past our primes, well past any care. The only things that inhabit either of us are worms and vermin. The only reason we still exist is because someone finds us too useful to destroy. I am tired, but it doesn’t matter.

That is a refrain I know too well.

They broached the door and killed the little ones and prided themselves on their martial valor. The truth is, they’ve only faced their lessers. Squabbling goblins and the low-interests of their masters. They still have no clue what forces move these pieces into play. They have never had to fear for their lives. They will, and it will shock them.

I would shock them, but my master bid I stay back. Stay in the shadows. Watch.

They murder the unwitting goblins, they murder their chiefs, they murder their way through the castle and think themselves wise and bold and heroic—they burn paper puppets and think themselves conquerors. In my day, I could have ended all of them. I have made gods move for me. I was a champion….

…I am tired, but it doesn’t matter.

Our negotiations with Kal-Mak-Tiragi go slowly, but progress is made daily. Soon, we will have a new nation to call home and a new hope for the future.

Well, others will have hope—I will have service. And in that, I am as content as I am allowed. So, I watch. and I task. I remove the pieces from the board quietly. We learned our lesson a long time ago about advertising our presence. Several are already dead, it will be weeks or months before anyone finds out. Such is our way now. Such is our way.

I followed them back to Phandalin. I followed them all around the town. A dark guardian angel over their shoulders, I am many and yet only one. I am everywhere, but only here. It confuses me and my master assures me that thinking on it will only drive me mad. It is exhausting when I must be more than one, I am tired—but, it doesn’t matter.

I must continue. I follow them North. I follow them as they follow the dwarf’s map. They are closing on the Wave Echo Cave. They are living their destiny and I remember how sweet it was to live and thrive as they are. I am jealous. I hate them, and I suppose love them. I hope they win. Losing only brings this…

…this, whatever this is.

This gray.

The cave is dangerous. It lies. It is home to madness. It is a window—a bare peak—into mysteries Tellene has no real knowledge of. Some may die. Surely, some may die.

by Ronnie

“Danger- The undead live here” This is the first thing we see when arriving to Thundertree. It seems to be a ghost town. The whole reason we came to this town was to escort this family we rescued from the mansion to their home, but there doesn’t seem to be a house livable anywhere in this town. I have an uneasy feeling about this town. Each house is abandoned and some you can’t even consider a house, just walls. The streets are empty, nothing but spiderwebs cover the road. Where there are giant webs, there are giant spiders.

I didn’t see most the fight due to they wrapped me in their web from afar. As soon as I was able to escape the webbing my party already took care of the giant spiders. As we got closer to the middle of town the family we escorted suddenly started walking up to the top of a hill with a tower. When we got to the top there was a creature there that I have never seen before. I have only heard stories and rumors of these creatures. I have this intense urge to kill this creature.

Why do I feel this way?

Is this creature doing this to me?

Is he feeling the same way?

I will hear the creature out. I will see what it wants.

Why is he asking for our loyalty? He should know I would never bow before this monster. It keeps talking. It wants blood to show our allegiance to it. It will get none of my blood. He is not worthy of this blood. Why is Bast going along with what it asks? We must kill this monster now!

I can’t take this any longer. His voice is eating away at me. My hatred for this monster is becoming uncontrollable. He must be dealt with. This evil must not be allowed to roam this land any longer. His words are like poison. All they do is confuse and corrupt the ones unfortunate to hear. I don’t know if I will have any assistance in fighting this dragon but I can not control myself any longer.

Before I was able to attack, Bast got the jump on the monster. He lured it in with what it wanted to hear. After Bast attacked the rest of my party joined as though they some how knew bast was going to attack. I am glad I am not going to be alone in this battle for it would have been my last. Ultimately it’s own ego was the reason why we were able to defeat it. I stared into this dragons eye until it took its final breath. Xinatrux I believe is what it said it’s name was in draconic or venomfang in a more well known language. This dragon will not be forgotten.

I feel empty inside me now. I know it was a good thing to remove this evil from the world but it was the first contact I had with something that was like me.

Are there more like this one out there? If so I must find them. I need answers on why I am hated by something I resemble and why I hated this green dragon so intensely. This one seemed to be just a baby. I wonder if the adult dragons will be this easy to kill. Either way, I can not allow this evil to reside on this planet anymore. If they want blood then I shall give them blood.

by Jeff

The old man calmly continued his lecture as he fumbled with making a fire. “Do you know what happens when you mix bat guano, and sulfur?” The tiefling child was staring at something over the old man’s left shoulder. “Bastus, do not talk to that thing now!” “I am trying to teach you something of the world!” He hated the name Bastus. He didn’t quite hate it as much as his real name, but that would be forgotten along with everything else that happened the night the old man found him, or so said the old man. “No sir I do not know what would happen if these things were mixed.” “Good,” shouted the old man, his face beaming! “Do you want to know?” Bast shook his head yes, and his eyes lit up. The old man walked over to a table, and picked up something that looked like yellow powder, and a ball of mud. He then went to the firepit and said something under his breath. For a brief second Bast saw only shadows as a bright concussive light shot forth from the pit. A roar that lasted so much longer than necessary shook the child to his core, and then it was gone. Just like that a fire roared in the pit, and the old man was jumping back, trying to put out his robes that were smoldering. “This is magic of the learned Bastus.” “This is what you will see when people read books, and scrolls. This is the work of science, learning, and reason.” “This is magic that you will never use.” “It is simple, and it is tame.” “It is a formula, an equation to be worked out.” The child stared up at the old man in wonder. “Do not look at me like that boy, I did nothing but put ingredients together and say a word.” The old man had a habit of swatting flies away from his face that were never there. “Lessons are done for today, go out and learn three new things. Tonight you will tell me what you learned.”

“Do you remember what I told you when you first came to be with me?” Bast shook his head yes, and stood up. He was anxious to go back out and explore the rest of the mountain, and he was not going to recite the words again. “Don’t go too far today Bastus, there is a storm coming,” the old man said as he sat back in his chair. With that the young child was out of the homely cave and into the sunlight again. He looked back one last time and saw the old man sitting in his chair, a smile slowly spreading on his face as he roasted his toes on the fire.

Bast hopped up along the rocks like he knew them well. He had to be careful, but it shouldn’t be too difficult, especially with its help. It liked to help Bast. It liked to show him things. It was tricky sometimes, reasoning with it. It had a weird sense of logic. Like a puzzle. He learned to use it, but first he had to learn what it was saying. He was still figuring that part out, but every day he understood more and more of its insane language. He found that he could ask it to show him the minds of animals. He found that it showed him things he may not want to see. Powerful things to come. Bast couldn’t contain himself anymore, and he smiled brightly as the thing whispered into his ear. He knew his time would come in just a few short years, and this “magic” the old man showed him seemed like nothing more than mixing powders and looking stern. “No, that was not for him.” He needed to bring forth his own magic, and he knew how could get answers to that.

The mouth of the cave was not really a mouth at all. More like a small slit in a rockfall. Bast knew that there was a cave under there, but getting to it was going to be tricky. He shuffled up along the rocks and wound his way up to where the small opening was. There was no wildlife here. To anyone else this may have seemed strange. No squirrels, or marmots on the rocks barking at his approach. No birds in the air to whistle warnings. Not even bugs would come within eyesight of this place. Bast was told this was an old place, a place of death and decay.

There was steam rising from the opening. Steam that stunk of death and rot. As he moved closer, there was a thought that kept coming to the forefront of his mind. At first it was a whisper, barely audible over the hum of normal thoughts. As he inched closer to the mouth of that cave, however, the whispers grew. Something unnatural was making this happen, and Bast intended to at least find out what it was. He approached carefully and made sure that he had solid footing. He was sure that he had mentally mapped this area well, and knew which rocks to step on, and which ones to avoid. The rockfall came down the mountain, like they all do. A big mess of granite that piled up around the foot of the mountain. He worked his way closer, and had to stop twice to take a rest. The cave was very close now. All he had to do was squeeze through this last rock, and he would be at the opening. Opening is a strong word. The mouth of this cave was under a rockfall, and was little more than a two foot wide slit that ran from higher up the mountainside, down to the ground.

As Bast made his way closer, he felt a pull on his clothing. He couldn’t be sure, but the whispers in his mind were getting louder. More chaotic. They were drowning his mind with thoughts of death and other things. It could not help him here, he realized. Either it could not, or it would not. He could literally feel it being drowned out by the cacophonous chorus of whispers in his mind. The first thing into the cave was his right shoulder. He wanted to go back to the safety of his cave, but it was too late for that. He had already set his mind to this, and he intended to find answers, or die trying. As this new thought spread into his mind, he felt a tug on his right hand. He let out a gasp and his eyes went wide. He tried to pull his hand back, but something was gripping it. Pulling it. He let out a shriek of terror, but screaming did nothing to help with the adrenaline soaked madness of panic. As he was pulled into the cave, the last thought he had before the world went black was of the old man sitting in the cave roasting his toes saying “Don’t go too far today Bastus, there is a storm coming.”

by Flannel

I am the newest Power amongst the Powers. The mechanisms that drive this pale, pretty world have turned and clinked and worked in their magical symphony to birth the rarest and most awesome being it has any words or poetry for—Me.

Me.

The forests and streams and sun and stars and winds and howling things and snarling things and chittering things and silent standing briars and cold stoic stones all live their lives and give their essence to Me.

I hear their prayers in their kind. I deem them good.

The towers bend and droop lower and lower each year as supplication to My righteous benevolence. They live on, howling in the storms that come, because I give them that life. It is my gift. This playground is home. Home to God.

But, My great groaning garden is not without weeds. Evil creatures come. Horrid, violent, blind little creatures have come—and in My judgment I have found them undeserving of this paradise. My paradise. I have given them to My subjects and My most loyal followers. Sometimes to the spiders, My finest soldiers. Sometimes to the blights, My eyes and ears. Sometimes to the elements, My lovers the thunder and the rain and the lightening and the drought and the tempest and the floods—My many consorts that caress Me with their trials and bid Me endure their passion.

And I do.

I love them and their harshness loves Me.

And the horrid things die, for they are not Gods. They cannot know the love, they cannot survive the divine punishment My paramours deliver. The Great Sun has burned them. The Bold Winter has frozen them. The world itself is My wife and husband and the small things cannot survive his/her jealousy.

I sleep and dream. I dream. I dream.

My dreams are green. They are green. And I bring them to the small creatures of the world, I bring them my gospel—and it is blood and decay. It is beautiful, and they pluck out their eyes for that beauty.

I sleep.

I… wake.

Something has come to My garden. Some new small thing… things. They come. I see them. I see them. I smell them. I lay. I wait. I will bring them My being. They will fall prostrate. They will cry and weep and I will love them. And their pain will prove their loyalty.

They come.

They come.

I am excited. I cannot know the awe they will feel when they realize they have entered into the lands of God and found Him here to bless and hate and love them.

They come.

Hello.

Hello, small creatures.

One of them is like so many of the others. It is female. It smells afraid. It is good that it is. But it speaks and I hate its words, it speaks My tongue badly and the words of Gods are not fit for the mouth of elves. It is displeasing me. I will show the rest the power in My hand, I will eat her delicate hands firs—…

…but wait…

…oh, teasing winds you have brought an other! An other! An other to My paradise! It smells eager. Its eagerness is pleasing and I am aroused by its want. It was power, it wants patronage—it wants God. To serve and love and be one with My great works. I am pleased. So pleased. It… he… he will know my terror and pain and love and hate and joy and gifts and curses an—…

…a bastard with them? A bastard! A bastard! A bastard! A bastard! I will only kill it. It deserves My hatred. It is of the line of Great Beasts! It is unworthy of My heaven and undeserving even of the limbo outside its walls! But, quiet… the other… friends, perhaps? No matter, I am a benevolent God and will not make My other endure the death and screams of his friend.

I will kill the bastard tonight and spare My other that pain. And bring him new pains to sup on. Forever. And ever. Always. Ever. Ever. Ever.

Bleed for Me other. Oh, bleed! And bleed the rest! Yes! You are My prophet, you will bring My greatness to all that walk and crawl and fly and you will bring them pain and love. You will bring Me humble citizens for My heaven.

The blood is Mine. And Mine. And Mine.

No!

…

NO!

…

NO! NONONONO!

Why? Why betray Me? Our ages together and you play the part of My nemesis!? Together over these centuries and eons! I am your God! Your God! Your God!

The skulking one. The liar. I vomit My children upon him and he screams. He is terrified and his death will be as green as My dreams. Flee and run!

I will cleanse My paradise of your treachery! And other will see his friends die. And I smell their fear! It is strong and thick and musky.

I take no pleasure in your deaths, little traitors. None! It is a great judgment I bestow on you and you will thank Me with your dying breathes.

Stop!

Stop IT!

I feel My own blood wash down from a sickly hole in My chest… I am in pain. I am in pain. I am bleeding.

by Flannel

So, let me introduce some story elements of the Lost Mines of Phandelver and give a commentary on how the game played and areas we really liked and areas we felt something wasn’t quite right. There might be a spoiler or two in this post.

First, I want everyone playing out there to know that the Starter Set contents are phenomenal. Art and booklets and even the pre-mades (despite our playing created characters instead of using the ones in the box)… all high quality and well done. We changed some elements of the module to fit our game: (1) rather than this happening in Neverwinter in Faerun, this is all happening in Dodera in Kalamar; and (2) in order to really use this as the kickoff to a larger story past level 5, several elements have been altered to lead up to a great international conflict with the hobgoblin nations of the world. So, think of this as less “a party of heroes rides into town and fix things”—as the adventure is written—and more “a party of heroes rides into town and, while fixing things, see the coming storm”.

First thing to note is that the major locations and NPC’s of Phandalin are very accessible—as a GM one wants to have flavorful NPCs that don’t feel like they’re simply quest-bots and I found it easy to spin up personalities and objectives for them based on the notes in the module. I could have my governess of the Blue Lions (middle-aged and elegant, perhaps too much so for this small mining town) be taken and flattered by the ex-Kalamaran Officer and more interested in his company (and offering easy trade to keep him around all afternoon). I could have the pragmatic provisioner appeal to the Lawful characters that he couldn’t possibly be responsible for paying them, as he paid the party’s employer in full for delivery of the goods they had brought with them from the capitol—and watch those two (one resigned to being stiffed, one absolutely pissed) perfectly play Lawful by simply going with it to the consternation and argument (heated) of the chaotic other three party members.

The elf wizard, to her great RPing, tried pocketing a few coins from the Shrine of Luck and got herself minorly cursed for it—a scene that served well to provide her with Inspiration (we’ll come back to that) for playing her background and flaws well… as a street urchin, back when she was a girl, she just had that habit of eyeballing a room for valuables and taking things when she could. Old habits die hard. Ultimately, the town felt alive enough to give everyone things to do and reasons to split up. Our rogue tried making contact (totally independant of the module) with any thieves or gangs in the village, being that he was from a large city with an established (if secretive) guild and “the brotherhood” certainly might help them find that missing dwarf that owed them money. He finds the Redbrands and the street altercation was needless and violent and short—they just didn’t realize how fast the big green bastard was until one of them died.

So with everyone split up, hearing about how oppressive this gang of red cloaked thieves were from different sources, and Odom having experienced it first hand, they went to the hideout on the hill for their first proper dungeon crawl of this game (the goblin hideout was small and technically a crawl, but as the starter dungeon it really felt like a moment for flavor and easing into the system habits than a real hazardous delving).

We did run into several places where rules clarifications were hard. Searching for traps and hidden doors, while the main materials in the Basic Rules give the impression that one is using Investigation (hidden objects), the Starter Set says Perception. That led to the rogue being a little frustrated as he investigates like a champ (passive score of 17—that’s auto-finding things when he’s in a scene going over, carefully, everything immediately around him), but percieves no better than the rest of the party (12). We house-ruled that investigation made more sense (for searching), and things picked back up and our search-specialized rogue was back to disabling the few traps that were there to find and noticing hidden doors and loot everywhere.

Very quickly, really since the Cragmaw Hideout cave on the road, these players have figured out that terrain matters, cover rules, and surprise works. They approached every door carefully, set some ambush rules, listened for voices, and kicked doors in only to get the one round drop on anything in that room. It was enormously effective. Keep that in mind for your games, if you—as a GM—aren’t paying attention to “how much noise is the party making, would I give my monsters in the other room a chance to be even lightly warned—thus not surprised?” then you might well have situations where the party is attacking up to twice before you get to do anything and that’s going to make encounters maybe too easy too often.

As it stands, They took out most things in the dungeon with minimal pain. A few people had to content with those Death Rolls when you get to 0 hp, but nobody came anywhere near as close to dying as the last game where Malleus took too many arrows and went down nearly all the way (0 hp and failed death rolls), and Odom did much the same (although we found that he would have had one more round on his feet at 1 hp as per the Half-Orc racial ability to stay at 1 hp that first time you’re taken below it—everyone should be careful not to forget any racial attributes, its easy to think “old D&D” and forget that many of the races have very useful and strong abilities at their disposal).

Their two big story-driving finishes were (1) ignoring that rat in the wizard’s study (despite me mentioning it , casually, twice) and finding the wizard gone—though his notes left while he rushed out in a hurry. They uncovered his alliance with the Black Spider, hints of a hobgoblin conspiracy afoot, and his direction of these Redbrand bastards. They found his escape tunnel and deduced he’d run just moments before—their proof was seeing that rat take off up the stairs afterward and the rogue killing it with thrown dart (quickly) only for it to vanish, which our warlock figured out (Arcane) meant it must have been a familiar and must have been listening to them the whole time and warning its master. SO CLOSE.

And, (2) freeing the woman, her daughter, and son from the cages. That was the last thing they did (having found the secret door in the cistern room at the beginning and walked to the hardest parts of the hideout first). Bast, the warlock, freed them and questioned them—they’re the subject of the “Chapter 2” post on the game. I took them, as NPCs and pressed up the maturity and horror of the situation a little. Their capture wasn’t benign and the scars would last (physical and emotional ones). Bast plans to have the party take them to this Thundertree place as soon as they are done with Phandalin—and I may have some story-rich NPCs to keep in the game: this damaged, but strong young woman and how her experiences might twist her into something more in the future.

All in all, there were a few Inspiration points handed out, lots of XP, and the party finds itself with more money (off of looting that hideout) than ever. There were some squabbles about goods and cash—but, all in all, everyone sits pretty and feels their new level very much. This next session should see a lot of aggressive powers (we’re at level 3, where it gets interesting). The wizard is just looking for a reason to scorching blast something, now; the warlock has his otherworldly tome of secrets whispering in his mind; the fighter has figured out some of the arcane powers a former mentor of his demonstrated years ago; the rogue has mastered the art of killing men with pointy things by surprise; and the dragonborn monk is able to express the natural power of the great elements of the world through focus and control of their essence.

Shit, as they say, is about to get real as they hunt for this Cragmaw Castle to find the missing dwarf, maybe that evil wizard, and uncover the secret of the Forge of Spells.

by Ronnie

In my travels across this land to help guide souls down the right path, I have begun to fully understand just how difficult this is going to be. This will not be an easy battle for them either. Either they will see my side of this war and join a better way of life or they will regret their decision to stand against me. If they decide to do things the hard way, we shall do them the hard way. It just means I get to have a little more fun.

It sadden me to find out that this town need so much help, but excited me a little also that I will be able to do so much good in the name of my family. As we were working our first mission from the town. It was ultimately meet with disaster. We overwhelmed them with shear force and was able to take a prisoner. This was then I was able to see the true self of one of my comrades. I always knew he had a different way of thinking but I do not know if I can stand by and watch these things happen to ones who have already given up. Luckily we were able to get some good information out of the prisoner before Malleus did his deed to the man. I do not know if I can forget what he did to this man. I do know now that he might need to be saved himself. I might have to one day help correct this man path decisions, I hope it will not have to come to that. As for for the others I have no issues with, yet.

When we arrived to the manor, it had a very uneasy feeling to it. Full of hate and smelled of death. This place must be brought to into balance. As we cleared out a couple riff-raff, we came across one being that seemed to have completely given up altogether. This monster who had given up his humanity for a little extra power to make people recognize his greatness, will only be remember as the monster that lost his one and only green eye, as well as his life. We continued on, we vanquished some more monsters and saved some hostages. We also learned that this town is going to need to be brought back to order before we move on. There has been one to many reportings of corruption and abuse of status for me to just look the other way. I will help this town regan the balance. There will be order.

by Jim

“There are two Captain Exiles,” is what Harkene told me once, with a smile. "There is Captain Exile the hero. A man who’d sooner die than break a promise, who’d risk life and limb to save a comrade, beloved by his men, admired by his superiors.

“And then there’s the one everybody outside of Bet Kalamar knows.”

I am a good man.

Do I enjoy the killing? Yes. Do I revel in the blood? Oh yes. Do I drink in the screams as if they were a fine, fine wine? Yes, yes, by all the Gods yes.

But you have to understand WHY I enjoy it. I am no mere sadist, no perverse peddler of indiscriminate slaughter. These … I hesitate to call them men … operate outside of the law. They kill, they steal, they burn, they force themselves upon those who cannot fight back. They are the corrupt, the treacherous, the cowardly. They are as beasts, and do we not cut the throats of beasts for a greater purpose?

I enjoy what I do because I enjoy seeing filth get what filth deserves. When some would-be robber finds himself stripped of gold and clothing, and marched through the streets with his shriveled fruits on display, is it not humorous? When a murderer has his blade torn from his hand and thrust into his own vile black heart, is it not righteous?

Others talk of the law, of seeing these creatures brought to justice through the “proper” authorities, but why should we extend the benefits of the law to those who abandon it so freely? Why should the protections of society extend to monsters who seek only to poison it? Why grant rights and respects to those who RESPECT NO RIGHTS?

Let us be honest with ourselves here. The law, as it stands, is ill equipped to deal with the criminal element that infests every town like a rotting, pus-filled sac of putridity. If it were, families would not fear to walk the so-called civilized streets at night. The law, as it stands, is not something a criminal mind can understand. If it did, it would not turn its back on the justice system without so much as a shred of remorse.

It felt good to take the half-orc’s blade and thrust it into the jaw of that sniveling little wretch – ambusher, murderer, and liar that he was. I was nothing but fair. I told him that if he lied, I would hurt him. He lied. I hurt him. Thus, he learned that if we lie, we get in trouble, and he was a good little dog thereafter. You see, quick, decisive, corrective punishment is all these things understand. And I DON’T understand why Natsu objects to this, I don’t understand why Odom looks at me as if I’M the villain. What good is all that power of theirs if they refuse to use it for good?

So I am a good man, you see. A champion of justice. Perhaps the last good man left. You understand that, right? Good.

Now, I’m going to take the gag off and the candles away, okay? Then we’re going to talk again about the Red Cloaks, and why such a young man would fall in with such low scum.